If I wore a necktie -- which I don't -- I would have straightened it.
Instead I simply swallowed dryly, checked the house number for the Nth time, rechecked my watch -09:30 precisely, per arrangements- and knocked. Five seconds later, the front door opened and Jodee stood there, her infectious grin exactly the same as forty years ago. We fell into one another's arms for a huge full-body hug that seemed to erase the decades.
Way back when, we'd been lovers for eighteen months or so. I was her biology lab instructor, aged twenty-four and just out of the Marines, insanely and perpetually horny. She was a new freshman, barely eighteen.
When we met she had just three weeks earlier, literally on her arrival day, fallen into the clutches of an on-campus jackass Mormon preacher who convinced her to convert, and then explained to her that she was by virtue of conversion physically and spiritually a virgin once more. She later admitted it all smelt fishy.
She was a good student. Plus she was friendly and open - and extraordinarily cute! A lovely slender figure, and quite busty.
After one class meeting early in the semester, she hung around until we were alone, then approached me without a trace of hesitation or embarrassment - she would like to talk about some things biological that she'd been told by a preacher, would I be interested in having her come over to my place sometime and cook dinner, we could talk, she would value my opinions, and besides that, she liked me!
I wasn't used to being so boldly approached, and it worked perfectly: dinner happened that very night, a Friday. Both a motorcycle ride to my place and a pre-dinner banana daiquiri helped loosen her up -- not that she needed much of that, she was extremely frank and open.
We quickly dismissed as specious claptrap the renewal of her virginity - she admitted somewhat shyly to having fucked widely since age twelve, and was greatly relieved to find I didn't criticize. She even seemed surprised and a little awed when I told her I'd begun at age eleven myself.
The conversation veered off into things sexual, the mutual responsibility for one's partner's pleasure, and then particularly contraception, about which she knew little, but was aware of her ignorance and wanted to learn. I showed her my favorite -- contraceptive foam which one emplaced against the cervix by using a little plastic injector. She thought it a marvelous invention.
Soon she suggested it was time for her to cook -- which she did. Spaghetti, and quite good.
We lazed about after dinner, did a bit of necking (she was a delicious kisser) and mild through-the-clothing fondling whilst sprawled on my couch. I was being more gentlemanly (read 'less pushy') than I wished, mostly in light of her being my student and of that recent religious nonsense -- despite the evening's intense discussions I wasn't sure yet how deeply she might have internalized the crapola and didn't want to give hurt unnecessarily.
Anyhow, I was certainly horny enough for a whole pack of cub scouts by late evening, when I suggested (being gentlemanly as I was) that we should take her back to the dorm -- via car, not bike, daiquiris considered. She looked at me with a wide-open, slightly gamine expression, then went shy in a way unique to her, a mannerism that popped up occasionally and simply, utterly melted me inside.
She shook her head, picked up the foam applicator, and said "I don't have to go yet. I don't WANT to, either. What I'd really like is to try out some of this stuff."
She watched my expression, read it correctly, and began unbuttoning her blouse. We left my house at about mid-afternoon next day, experienced but not sated. We were an item for a long time.
Forty-plus years can make a person hard to find. I'd tried -- purely out of curiosity -- to find her and about half a dozen other old flames. Now, I'm no dilettante on the internet, but I'd had zero luck, finally deciding that she must have married and changed her name, else died. Just about the time I gave up the occasional desultory search, I got an email from her! Admittedly, as a well-published scientist with a checkered, wildly variegated career, it's easier to find me... but what a coincidence. She wrote that she, too, was just curious. The net result was a series of increasingly detailed and intimate emails, a couple of long phone calls, and finally this visit, which had my blood pressure slightly up, and my pulse elevated as well. It wasn't clear what was supposed to transpire -- after all, she admitted candidly to being near the end of her sixth marriage. No wonder I couldn't find her!
I watched her as she headed for the kitchen to get coffee, asking over her shoulder "I suppose you still take it the same way -- two sugars and extra cream?" Bingo! -- a fine memory.
Fine body, too -- over sixty now, she was still slender and looked to be in good shape. Nice legs -- and she knew it, for they were on show beneath her shorts. Still busty, and barely contained by what had to be a little-nothing bra. Interesting!
She returned with the coffee, sat down on the sofa with me, turned so that she could study my face -- and caught me looking at the mantel with its lineup of six portrait-style photos, all men. She laughed, patted me on the knee, said "Like my rogues' gallery? That's the six, in order left to right. Five divorces, and number six is final in about a week." She looked at me as if waiting for disapproval -- which I wasn't about to give."
Confronted with her string of husbands, I had compared her history to my own, describing us both as serial monogamists (with occasional flings strewn about despite the nominal monogamy). I had suggested that the only real difference between us was that she collected bits of paper along the way -- licenses, divorce decrees, etc. Finally she sighed and then giggled: "I really do appreciate your analysis of my record, you know. I think it's pretty accurate.
I shrugged, said "I never asked -- six hubbies, but no kids?"
She shook her head, swirled her coffee and said "Nope. No kids. Do you remember our first night together, at your place?"
I admitted to having relived it dozens of times, told her with a grin that the memory always turned me on hugely.
She nodded, said "Me, too!" Then, "All that nonsense and trouble we went through with the foam! After all that, it turns out my fallopian tubes never developed properly and I'm sterile. Produced lots of eggs, but none of them ever got to where they could be fertilized. Wasn't until number three husband that my doctor finally figured it out. Sort of too bad, I might have liked being a mommy."
